


Start a fight just to make the sex better

by pseudofoucault333



Series: ROK Standalones [2]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofoucault333/pseuds/pseudofoucault333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar uses his power to slice and dice while having sex with Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start a fight just to make the sex better

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it about time I start to post some of my works from various fandoms here from LJ. Though if you want to comment on it on LJ please [click here.](http://livin-dead69.livejournal.com/93216.html#cutid1) I'd appreciate any comments due to this being my first time posting on AO3. :) Also this is unbeta'd so I apologise for any mistakes made xo

**Title:** Start a Fight just to make the Sex Better  
**Author:** **Fandom:** Heroes  
**Pairing/character:** Peter/ Sylar  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Prompt:** sylar uses his power to slice and dice while having sex with peter. prompted by **Kink:** blood Play  
**Notes/Warnings:** I'm kind of a newbie Heroes fan so apologies if any of the material I've used it wrong...Relying on the Heroes Wiki might not be a good idea next time. No Beta so any mistakes that are made are my own, Major thankies to for the help and the inspiration :) apologies for the lateness....I've had three assignments to work on for the past couple of weeks but my next one might just be on time :)  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters, I'm just playing with them for my own sick twisted pleasure :) title  & cut © Sick Puppies.

 

It was a symptom of being around the other male. Even a glimpse of him sent a stab of pain to flow through him in remembrance of all those times they had been within each other’s presence before. How it felt to have him close to him, hitting him and the sound of his gravelly voice taunting him. But for Peter this was something else completely. Since discovering how he was related to more people than he first expected, including the girl he’d been attracted to since he laid eyes on her, he had been aching for a way to experience some pleasure and to make him feel something again. He just never expected he would need the known serial killer in his social circle to be the one to bring it out in him.

Of course in his mind the last time he had felt in anyway alive was when the elder male had been trying to cut his head open. He could still remember the feel of his skin being split apart across his forehead before he stopped, letting the pain become unbearable and yet so addictive at the same time. In some way he had expected to die that night....with his back shoved up against the brick wall of Mohinder’s apartment, the owner’s unconscious body hanging from the ceiling with invisible strings and Sylar looming over him while he screamed with pain. But now he was glad to be alive even if he was deprived of any kind of touch.

The night it had all started he’d been walking back from sitting in a bar with his hand wrapped around a bottle of Vodka, he’d been unsteady on his feet and was sure he was seeing things as he spotted Sylar sitting on his couch, his legs crossed at the ankle on his coffee table and hands clasping each other rested in his lap like he lived there. But the dark-shadow of Sylar had got to his feet as he turned the light on and crossed the room to stand before him. His expression was an emotionless mask like always yet his eyes always seemed to give his silent requests away. Whether it was something as simple as wanting his power or just the surprise at having his presence around it was always obvious in those deep beautiful eyes. Sylar may have heard his thought because an eyebrow raised cracking the mask and letting the younger male know he wasn’t so completely oblivious. He may have even known for some time that there was something more on Peter’s mind whenever he was around but he hadn’t got his chance to ask.

Peter found himself shoved against the nearest wall and the sweet yet soft feel of the elder male’s breath grazing his neck causing him to gasp and his lower body to try and seek out the badly needed friction between their hips. But the feeling of a tip of his tongue grazing the side of his neck did nothing to restrain the urge; it became all the more unbearable.

“You want this...don’t you?” Sylar whispered, in a tone that wasn’t a command but more a question filled with uncertainty and surprise. 

“Yes!” The word was pulled from his usually so closely guarded mouth before he could stop himself but it didn’t seem to be the answer Sylar had been expecting as he pulled away and the emotionless mask was replaced. Uncertainty and yet restraint glittering in his eyes as he pushed away from the wall leaving the Medic resting against the wall, while his legs regained the feeling back into them.

“And why is that?” the taller male asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans as though to push the need to touch Peter more than he had to away.

“You’re the only one that will....make me feel anything.” Peter said, the slur obvious in his voice along with what was probably the sound of a child begging for something he really wanted.

Sylar shook his head like he couldn’t believe he was in this position, looking down at the ground between them before sighing and turning to walk towards the door, causing Peter to stumble forward. Anything to stop him from trying to leave.

“Hey! Sylar where you going?!” he asked, the sound of his words making the serial killer stop and look over his shoulder at him.

“I have somewhere else I need to be....and you need to sober up before I can even consider talking to you. I won’t be happy if I come back and hear you slurring again.” 

With that he was gone and Peter was left sinking to the floor, the broken bottle of vodka on the floor the only reminder that he had been man-handled. And in such a way that he was aching for it to happen again. But when he woke the next morning he was sure it was a figment of his imagination, pushing the blame on his drunken self for the broken bottle and his aching legs. But despite the elder male’s wishes he hadn’t stopped drinking. 

Each night Sylar would be there when he got back from the bar, back from drowning his sorrows and his misery for being with someone he could never be with again, and each time he would try and make a move on the serial killer. Each time Sylar would get up or leave him shoved against a wall, the closest they got to intimacy was the one hunger-filled kiss Peter pressed to his lips to which the elder had paused and let him get his way with before pushing himself off the couch when it was over. Each morning he’d wake in denial, not remembering Sylar’s presence or any of the words that came from his lips and even on those rare occasions he did it was only in the form of a dream.

But after a few months of this routine he stopped. He’d sit in front of the TV as though he was waiting for someone but had no idea who. On those occasions Sylar didn’t show up for the first two weeks of his sobriety, and by the end it was getting close to agonizing. He was considering going back to the drink one night when he came back from work and had walked out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist to see the serial killer stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets and the window on to the fire escape open. He paused at the sight of the taller male and bit his lip as he went to close the window, not even going to ask how he’d opened it from the outside.

“Peter.”

He adjusted his hold on the towel and turned back to face the taller male only when he’d closed the window.

“I would ask how you got in here....but you’ve done it before...haven’t you?” he asked softly, gesturing for the serial killer to take a seat on the couch while he muted the annoying babble on the TV.

“But you don’t recall many of the previous times do you?” the elder asked, curiously as he sat in the seat offered and watched peter curl up in the opposite chair, with his hand grasping at the tie of his towel to keep it closed.

“No. But I do have a feeling that I’ve embarrassed myself a few times....and I thought for once maybe I should try waiting up for you sober. Looks like I got my wish.” Peter said with a small smile.

Sylar nodded but looked down at the coffee table which seemed to tell the younger that it wasn’t good news whatever his reason for being here was.

“So why do you keep coming here if it’s just to reject me or not say anything?” Peter asked, stretching back in the chair and feeling Sylar’s gaze move over his bare torso, watching the ripple of his muscles and making him feel more than a little self-conscious.

“Because. I know things haven’t been easy for you...and one of _us_ should be looking out for you.” He said softly, snapping himself out of his trance and turning his gaze back to the coffee table.

“But that’s not it is it? I can feel your gaze on me....right now....and it isn’t anything to do with looking out for me. It’s something more....something that you know I’ve been wanting from you even when I was drunk but you keep distancing yourself from. Why is that?” Peter asked, tilting his head and brushing some wet strands of hair from his eyes.

“You don’t know what you want. If you want someone to make you feel something you should look somewhere else. I’m not that kind of guy.” Sylar said softly yet his voice was filled with finality and just a twinge of uncertainty that didn’t go un-noticed by the owner of the apartment.

“No.” Peter stated, feeling Sylar’s gaze snap back to rest on his face at the denial.

“What do you mean no? Surely there are hundreds of girls out there who can make you feel something....why the hell does it have to be me?” he asked, edging away when Peter got up from his chair to sit beside him.

“But they don’t know me....or want to know me the way you do. They can’t bring on the pain the way you can....” Peter murmured, his gaze resting on the elder’s features while his free hand grazed down his 9am shadow covered skin.

“Stop it...” Sylar murmured, casting his gaze away and though they both knew he could easily make Peter stop by shoving against the wall with a gesture so he could make his get-away, he didn’t act.

“Why? Don’t you like how much you want this? How needy and powerless you feel whenever I’m around you?” Peter whispered in his ear, though he knew he’d gone too far when Sylar stiffened.

“What makes you so sure about that?” Sylar whispered, his piercing gaze meeting Peter’s with the jerk of his head that made the younger male falter and pull his hand away from his skin cautiously.

“I’m not....reading body language never exactly was my forte but with you...well you don’t exactly hide much from me.” Peter shrugged, getting to his feet and catching his towel as the knot loosened and quickly retying it before retreating to his room to dress.

He felt before he heard Sylar’s presence in his room, the elder male’s gaze following the curve of his spine and the skin of his back like a piece of art as he moved, and turned around after pulling a pair of boxers on to see Sylar hovering in the doorway as though coming out of a trance and wondering why he was there.

“I thought you would have gone back out the window,” Peter sighed, throwing the towel into a corner and fishing about in his unorganised closet for a pair of jeans or something to stop Sylar’s gaze being on his body instead of his face. 

“But you don’t want that....or else you would have shoved me out there yourself.” Sylar said softly, leaning against the door frame to give Peter the implication that he wasn’t nervous about being there.

“True. On both counts.” Peter murmured the last part quickly to himself, picking out some jeans but no shirt and keeping his back to Sylar as he pulled the denim over his bare legs, not turning back around until the button and zip were done. But by then Sylar had managed to sneak up soundlessly behind him. Light brown eyes met the older darker counter parts and he found himself unable to back away, caught up the mysterious depths and legs stiff like lead. It was like his body was finally taking control....or so he thought, until he tried to move his arm and found it immobile.

“Sylar...let me go....” he whispered, but found himself flung back against the wall beside his window, winded and pain flowing through every nerve in his body. His hands were held tightly at the wrist above his head by invisible hands and yet while he knew he should be afraid....should be preparing himself for the pain he was about to feel all he could feel was the pleasure as Sylar’s breath brushed the skin of his collar bone while his hands grazed up and down his sides with teasingly soft trails.

“No...” Sylar whispered, answering a bit late for either to care but Peter barely heard him, just wanting more touches, aching for those lips against his or any part of his skin instead of taunting him and making want to beg like his whore.

“...because you really want this. You want it so much you’re hard at the mere implication...” Sylar smiled grazing one hand over the front of his jeans while the middle finger of the other traced back and forth against his collarbone, the combination causing Peter to moan and attempt to writhe against the wall which was a pointless task when he didn’t have the control over his limbs.

“...then do it....” Peter breathed, his pattern getting more and more erratic at the mixture of two touches, wishing he could pull the other towards him. Yet he only had to look at Sylar to see the look on his face spoke of a paper thin layer of restraint keeping him from going on any further.

A moment of no movement and silence filled the space between them before the all too familiar stab of pain dug into Peter’s chest with the point of a finger. A loud groan was ripped from Peter’s lips and his eyes closed as he indulged in the feeling while using it to help him ignore the scrap of raw skin against the brick wall of his apartment when Sylar moved his immobile form like that of a puppet master. His legs were moved to wrap around his waist before the cold atmosphere hit the skin of his thighs telling him Sylar hadn’t wasted much time in removing his clothing. He opened his eyes in time to watch Sylar’s index fingers brushing gently over the length of his thighs before two more intoxicating stabs of pain flowed from the wounds made in the centre of each before they began to heal.

As the ache for more seemed to be numbed a little that was when Sylar kissed him, hard and brutal with tongues fighting each other while marking territory but it seemed like a fight neither would win. His wrists were released and directed to the button of Sylar’s jeans as though telling him this was it and if he wanted to turn back now was the time to do it. He ignored the unspoken courtesy and pushed the button through the hole, the swipe of the zip being pulled down echoed around the room which seemed to be the shot of a gun at the starting line.

Sylar’s jacket and shirt were thrown across the room, with kisses and gasps for breath reminding Peter this was something he had asked for even though he had never expected he would be so bold let alone get his own way. His finger tips clung to the bottom of waist band of Sylar’s jeans as he shifted his bare legs around the serial killer’s waist so he could push them down as their mouths continued to move in a gloriously erotic pattern that neither wanted to stop. For a moment they both waited with their eyes connected, mouths panting for air, before Sylar’s arms wrapped around Peter’s waist to keep him close as he pulled away from the wall. Peter’s arms wrapped around Sylar’s neck, pressing kisses to his jaw to keep the elder male focused though he needn’t have bothered as Sylar threw him on to his own bed and crawled over his body, biting at points on his body that had Peter moaning and panting as his legs wrapped back around his waist to keep him pinned in an animalistic pose over his form. 

Their mouths connected over and over again with sloppy kisses neither were really thinking about, it just seemed to come as second nature as Sylar’s index finger traced the curve of Peter’s collar bone to his navel causing a curse as the stab of pain from a continuous cut flowed through Peter’s nervous system while making his erection harder and more unbearable. Which seemed to be exactly what Sylar was going for as he pushed his boots off his feet and licked at the congealing trail of blood over the younger’s muscular torso even as the wounds healed before his eyes. Peter’s back arched against the bed and yet when he tried to move his hands to direct Sylar’s lips back to his own the other male’s power had already them pinned above his head again, clinging to the headboard with white knuckles, as his mouth’s assault on his body continued. The tip of his tongue dipping into his belly button and following the remaining trail of skin to the base of his erection with a buzz that had Peter cursing loudly, demanding that he do whatever he was planning now before he went crazy. That was answered with another stinging trail of pain along the side of his cock followed by the tantalising feel of Sylar’s tongue licking the blood away while making him harder at the same time.

Finally the warmth of Sylar’s mouth sucked at the head of his cock steadily moving to the base of him and caused Peter to whimper and pant his name, to make him take more as his orgasm built in the pit of his stomach. He was faintly surprised at the gentleness of which the elder sucked his cock which was sometimes pushed away with the scrapping of teeth against the tender underside. After a while of being occupied with his task at hand Sylar’s control over his body seemed to disappear and Peter’s fingers slid into his hair to speed up his pace even though the rough treatment had him wanting to scream. It seemed like an eternity before the bright white light of orgasm blinded Peter’s sight and pulled the screams and groans from his throat. But when he came around it was to yet more pain....on the position Sylar had slid him into while he was unconscious and the feeling of yet more splitting skin under his finger tip as the tip of his index finger ‘traced’ the path of his spine, from the space between his shoulder blades to the bottom of his tail bone. Every inch of it felt like it was set on fire, all that pain so liberating and pleasurable at the same time, made an even better experience by the feel of Sylar’s tongue following the line to clear the blood before the wound healed, like it was best thing he had ever tasted.

Yet despite how exhausted Peter was he knew it wasn’t over. He never took Sylar to be the kind of guy who would give and not expect to get something back in return....besides in his own twisted way he wanted to be used. He swallowed and took a few breaths from where his head was rested on its side against the pillow, eyes half-lidded as sleep tried to take his consciousness from him until he felt nails digging deeply into the skin of his hips. A groan came from his lips and he felt Sylar’s nails dig deeper into his flesh as they moved down to his thighs, pulling the lower half of his body to his knees. It only seemed like seconds before he was being thrust into, no preparation, nothing to make it easier for him to accept or for him to cling on to the feeling of being full with someone else’s body. It was pain and he knew he would heal....but it didn’t make the intrusion any easier on his psyche or his body. But at the same time it was perfect....it was being worshiped in a perverse way and his body was responding to it because it wanted more. More pain, more sensation flowing through his system, more sexual gratification and more of the man above him. Sylar’s hands were back on his hips and the inconsistent rhythm of thrusts seemed to keep him on his toes, making him wait for the next thrust. After what seemed like an eternity he felt Sylar stop, groaning his name with release before he pulled out of him and flopped on to the other side of the bed. Peter bit his lip as he let his legs give way and rolled on to his side to look at the person beside him. Sylar’s eyes were closed and his body facing away from Peter like he didn’t want to look at him after what he’d just made him experience.

“Sylar...” The hesitation was obvious in Peter’s breathless yet groggy tone as he said the other male’s name and yet he watched Sylar roll on to his back so he could meet Peter’s gaze.

“Thank you.” The medic whispered, giving the serial killer a small smile which he didn’t return as he slid off the bed and began to gather his clothes from around the room. He wanted to say something....wanted to ask when he could see him again....but he didn’t want to put the pressure on him let alone make a regular thing if that wasn’t what he wanted. Domesticating an animal was destined to make it timid and that wasn’t how Peter wanted him.

He watched from beneath his covers as Sylar dressed, opening the bedroom window with a flick of his finger and leaving Peter to recover alone and wonder what next. His dreams were filled with more things he wanted to experience with Sylar....ways that would be just as brutal yet just as perfect. But when he woke the next morning and was on his way out the apartment building to work he stopped at his mail box to check for the usual bills. That was when he saw the card, just a plain card with the photgraph of a butterfly on it, sitting amongst the overdue bills. An unsure smile appeared on his face as he began the walk to catch the bus, cursing himself as he checked through the bills. But once he opened the card the smile grew to that of a child who’d got a life time supply of his favourite candy. Taped to the inside of the card was a business card. Sylar’s business card with a cell phone number and a small message below it.

_‘Call me when you need me.’_

He detached the business card and slid it into the pocket of his pants, knowing it would be getting more that it’s fair share of use. Ten months later it was still sat beside his phone and the man that owned his body causing him that gloriously addictive pain. He would never admit to anyone let alone Sylar that by now he was emotionally attached...nothing was more guaranteed to make him take a run and jump.


End file.
